Petals
by fuckthishat
Summary: Eric hadn't thought of that sorcerer in years, but now that his wife had passed, the memory wouldn't let him be. He'd seen the man pull life from thin air once. Who was to say he couldn't do it again?
1. Chapter 1

Oh lord. Something tells me that having two WIPs going at once is a slightly bad idea, but I couldn't be bothered to not do it XD Anyway, this plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone until I started. I have great plans for this. Filthy, M rated plans, so expect the rating to go up within the next few chapters. The first bit is a little short, but I promise that good (or at least passable) things are coming. And now, I present to you the beginnings of my SWATH/Thor crossover.

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**PART ONE**

A sorcerer lived in the Dark Forest- _had_ lived there for God only knew how long. Eric wasn't sure how magic affected one's age, but he doubted the particulars mattered.

He'd met him once before, though he'd been a younger and different man then. Newly married and eager to prove his worth, he'd made a trip into the forest for a rare flower. It grew only in the heart of that godforsaken place, and would make a wondrous wedding gift. In his haste, however, he lost his path and found himself at the door of a small hut instead of a meadow. It was embarrassing to say the least. He'd always prided himself on his sense of direction, but all the luck on earth wouldn't lead him to the meadow where those beautiful black flowers bloomed. Not now- not from a place he didn't know. He knew his limits.

Luckily for him, the man who came out to greet him had no such limitations. When Eric explained his situation, the man smiled and pulled a handful of the flowers from the very air. It was a wonder in and of itself, this use of the craft for creation. He'd only ever seen magic through the lense of war, where everything burned. But there was no fire here, only the warm blackness of the flower petals. Petals, he noticed, that matched the color of the man's hair perfectly.

"There is nothing I cannot do," the man had said soothingly, passing the flowers to Eric. "No trouble has yet to best me."

Warm. Genuine. Far more genuine than the inherent slyness of his craft or his sprightly green eyes should have allowed for. And when the man turned to reenter his hut, Eric found that he believed him. Storing the knowledge, he made his way out of the forest once more, fussing over the flowers the entire way home.

Warm black petals, bright green stems.

_There is nothing I cannot do._

He believed him, and he didn't forget.

* * *

The flowers died after only a week, though Eric counted it as no great loss. His wife had been sad to see them go, however, and he promised her he'd go back for more one day. Perhaps after some time had passed, and they had grown older together. The flowers would mean more then, he thought. They could run their fingers over the soft petals and recall the days when their own flesh had been as supple.

One day, he'd said. He would go one day.

After she died, he stored "one day" away with his other countless, unanswered prayers.

Years had passed since he'd spared a thought for the sorcerer in the forest, yet in the month following his wife's funeral, he was all Eric could think of. Through the haze of drink, he wondered if he could find him again, the man he'd only ever stumbled upon by accident in the first place. It was preposterous, he knew. An accident couldn't happen the same way twice, at least not for him. He'd never had such luck.

After two days of telling himself this, he tried anyway. Belly full of mead, he stumbled into the Dark Forest, thinking of flowers and pointless things like "one day", hoping that chance would favor him.

By all logic, he should have died. He was far too drunk to ward off the beasts that lived among the trees, and it was already growing dark by the time he entered the forest. He should have died, and perhaps he'd wanted to. But he didn't. Somehow he found himself at the door of a small hut, against which rested the dark haired sorcerer. It was as if he knew he was coming, and wasn't that the damndest thing?

The man smiled, and Eric, weary from the journey and heavy with mead, passed out at his feet.


	2. Chapter 2

Oh look, I finally updated~ Sorry for taking so long. I got caught up with a few other stories, most of which I'm still working on now. But I had some free time, so I figured I'd work on this a bit. I apologize in advance. Angst is on the way. Super super angst. Maybe not in this bit, but soon.

You have all been warned.

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**PART TWO**

He woke the next morning to the smell of burning wood, and for a moment Eric panicked. Nothing had been burned in his home for months. It was a task he'd never seemed to have time for, and so had been left to his now-absent wife. The scent was jarring, and he all but bolted from the bed, eager to face the unwelcome- and apparently chilly- intruder.

The sudden motion sent his blood rushing, and a pain speared his temple. It was grounding, and enough to bring back the particulars from the night before. This wasn't his home, or anywhere near it. Perhaps he shouldn't even be there.

A small chuckle came from the corner of the room, and Eric turned to face it. It was the sorcerer, tending something at the hearth and regarding him as one would a child.

"Did I frighten you?" The man's voice was far gentler than the teasing words should have allowed for, and Eric couldn't bring himself to be affronted by the slight to his manhood.

Besides, he had been a bit frightened. "I didn't remember coming, is all."

The man nodded, then set to stirring whatever it was he had hanging above his fire. "I'd imagine not. You were terribly drunk. It's a wonder you made it to my door."

Eric grunted a bit in response. No point denying it.

The sorcerer worked in silence for a few more moments before spooning out a bowlful of the thick mess. Giving it an experimental sniff, he went to Eric's side, holding the bowl out as an offering.

He eyed the contents suspiciously. It looked like no meal he'd ever taken. "What is it?"

"What you need."

Would it not have made his headache worse, he might have scoffed. He shouldn't have expected anything less cryptic.

Well, if it killed him, what of it? He hadn't honestly expected to live through the night, anyway. Giving the man a small nod, he took the bowl and drained its contents quickly. The liquid was surprisingly sweet and not at all what he imagined a potion would taste like, for which he was grateful. He doubted he could have stomached anything sour in his current state.

He returned the bowl to the man when he'd finished, and it took mere seconds for it to begin taking effect. A pleasant warmth crept up from the base of his throat and into his skull, relieving the tension there. Nothing had felt so lovely in months, and he groaned in appreciation.

"Better?"

"Mm."

The man smiled. "Good. I'm a healer of pains, you know. Among other things."

He did know. He'd seen the flowers, real as any organic thing. A conjurer, with life in his arsenal.

"You once said there wasn't anything you couldn't do."

"I did."

Eric licked his lips. "I would ask something of you."

The sorcerer gestured towards the bed, and Eric took a seat at the head of it, waiting for the man to crawl on after him before continuing. He explained the passing of his wife, and the shame of a life he'd been sustaining ever since, though he doubted he did it justice. There were certain sorrows that couldn't be vocalized. The man seemed to understand well enough, however. Chin propped on his knees like a child, he kept his eyes fixed upon Eric's, letting him speak his peace.

"Life," he began gently, when it appeared Eric had finished, "is uncommonly difficult to recreate. Small things can be done easily enough. Those flowers I gave you lasted as long as any you would have picked from the meadow, no doubt. Humans, however- perhaps it can be done by others, but for my own part, a properly functioning body and mind have eluded me."

"You said-"

The sorcerer shook his head, effectively cutting Eric off. "I hadn't tried this at the time."

"You say so you have since?"

"Aye, and would to God I hadn't." The man paused, shutting his eyes tightly as if to block some invading sight. A memory, perhaps.

"Was it really so terrible?"

To call the sound that came from the sorcerer a laugh would have been an overstatement. It lacked the kindness of such a joyous sound. It was only a hollow rumbled.

"Humans are complex creatures, yes?" The man held up his hand, wiggling his fingers in show. "Fine layers of skin, interlocking muscles, and bones- hundreds of bones, all fitting together just so. If even one of these things is out of place, the whole beast suffers for it." After a small pause, the man lowered his hand, tucking it between his knees. "It was far greater a task than I could have known, and what came of it was an abomination I don't care to see again."

The potion he'd ingested suddenly wasn't sitting so well, and Eric thought for certain he'd be sick. All this way- he'd come back to this god forsaken forest, risked death by some horrid beast of the night, allowed himself to trust in the absolute nature of the power of a man whose work he'd only seen once before, and for what? His wife was still dead, still rotting. And tomorrow if he made it out of this forest alive, he would still be drunk.

"It's hopeless, then."

"Not necessarily."

Hadn't he just said as much? "Don't toy with me, sorcerer."

"I've done no such thing."

"Just now you said it couldn't be done."

"I know what I said. _You_, however, have misinterpreted."

The man seemed content to leave it at that and abandoned his place on the bed, returning to stir the pot that still hung at the hearth. And Eric waited, thinking that perhaps he was only breaking. But the man never returned or made to explain. Infuriating. Perhaps this had been a mistake. He'd never met a wielder of magic worthy of trust before. Why should this one be different? Because of those emeralds embedded in his skull that made play they were eyes? Because of the soft blackness of his hair that were reminiscent of fresh petals? No. The man was proving to be nothing but a wily forest spirit. Perhaps he _was_ one of those flowers he resembled, and had as much care for Eric's plight as a spec of dirt would.

He'd come to the wrong place.

It was only when he rose from the bed, fully intending to leave, that the man acknowledged him again. "What do you want with her?"

"What does it matter? You said you couldn't help."

The look the man gave Eric was nothing short of exasperated. "I said only that I couldn't regenerate her body. Pay attention. And It matters because your answer will affect my next decision. Now before I change my mind completely, tell me what you want with her."

Eric groaned, taking a seat by the sorcerer at the hearth. If the man had no intention of speaking plainly, he supposed he had no choice but to play along and hope this was leading somewhere beneficial. Though really, when he thought of it, anywhere the man might take this was better than waking up drunk in some unknown field once again.

"I want to see her again. Hold her. Tell her that I love her."

"Did you none of those things in life?"

He scoffed, and wondered if this strange creature had ever known love. "I did, far more times than I could count. But I would do it all a thousand times more."

The man eyed him a moment, as if considering something great. Eric kept his attention trained on the sorcerer, not wishing to fail some unspoken test. Fickle or not, the man _had _hinted that he might have a solution. It wouldn't do to spoil his only chance.

"There is something I can do," the man said after a time, tangling his free hand in his dark hair. "Only, however, if you approve."

"I do."

A quick answer- one that had the other man smiling at him indulgently again. "You haven't even heard what it is I can do."

He wanted to say that it didn't matter, that anything would suffice. But he knew the man would take the time to explain anyway, so he kept it to himself. "What, then?"

"The problem lies in the creation of a body. If one were to already exist then the problem ceases to be. Making temporary alterations to a body is no great task. In fact, it's something I'm quite good at. I'm something of a shapeshifter."

Eric remembered being told stories of shapeshifters as a boy, and couldn't recall a single pleasant one. All had to do with some hideous creature taking on the form of a beautiful youth or maiden for some nefarious purpose or other. It was with a cold horror that he realized the other man's body might be a guise. He could easily be conversing with some terrible wolf, waiting for him to fall asleep once more so that he might make a meal of him.

Some of his fear must have shown, because the sorcerer chuckled- a full, mirthy thing. "I assure you, this is my natural state. It's only a skill I've developed, and found quite useful."

He hoped it was true. "And what good will it do me?"

"Can you not guess?"

Eric could, and now that he'd heard the option he wasn't so sure. It wouldn't be the same as having her. Regardless of how convincingly the sorcerer might disguise himself, it wouldn't change the fact that Eric knew it was him. Beneath whatever magic with which he cloaked his body, it would still be exactly as it was now.

"I don't- well..." Only an illusion. Nothing substantial. Not the woman who'd shared his home and bed. Not her soft hands or spirited laugh. Only an imitation of them. "It wouldn't be her."

The man finally abandoned his stirring, giving Eric his full attention. "No, that it wouldn't. But it will be the closest thing under God."

Would that be close enough? He doubted it. "I don't know."

"What harm would there be in trying? If it doesn't suit you, I will drop the illusion and we need go no further."

Well, perhaps one try. "You swear?"

"I have no reason to do anything less than what I've promised. I gain nothing from this."

"Why offer, then?"

The man's brows furrowed, as if the question was an affront. "You asked. What purpose would my skills serve if I couldn't offer them up now and again?"

It sounded so charitable when said like that, and Eric felt guilty for doubting the man earlier. Wily or not, the sorcerer was well intending.

Yes. One try. No harm in it at all. "What do you need for this?"

"Nothing much." The man stood, smiling widely enough to reveal his teeth. Gently sloping- no fangs. Not a wolf, then. Perhaps he really was the spirit of one of those flowers. "Come, walk with me. Tell me about her."

Reaching down, he took Eric beneath the arm and pulled, urging him to his feet. He followed the sorcerer's lead, if only a bit hesitantly. "What about her?"

"Everything," he said, leading them out of the door. "Surely you haven't forgotten already."

He hadn't. Not one detail. "Of course not."

"Then please, keep nothing to yourself. If you want this to be accurate, I'll need all you can spare."

Well, if it was really so important as all that he supposed he could manage.


End file.
